Stan Cullimore

The other Housemartins used to grumble at me: why have you brought us to this bloody field?…

IT’S FASCINATING TO see the things that follow you through life. Some of them are obvious. Some of them are not. Sweets, for instance. I’ve always had a sweet tooth, ever since I first discovered a secret tin of chocolate biscuits hidden away on a top shelf in my grandma’s pantry. No doubt when I am old, wrinkly and can’t remember what day it is, I will still have a soft spot in my heart for sugary snacks and gut-rotting goodies. But there are other things I’ve had a much more up-and-down relationship with. Walking, for instance. That is one association which has not always been a happy one.

When I was a kid I couldn’t stand going out for walks. To be fair, I did have a good reason. Being the youngest of three boys meant that I had the shortest legs in the whole family. Also, my older brothers and father shared a love of all things ancient and archaeological. For the rest of my family, a walk was the perfect excuse to get in the car, drive to somewhere cold and wet, then spend hours tramping across muddy fields in search of Roman remains, stone circles and overgrown ditches. My part in the proceedings was to lag along at the back, grumbling about the weather and wondering why my parents hadn’t remembered to bring any sweets with them. To be honest, looking back, it’s a wonder my family never went and dropped me off at an orphanage. Though it was suggested regularly. Not by my parents, mind. They were made of kinder stuff.

Noticing my lack of interest in walking, they came up with a cunning plan. In this case, the plan wasn’t actually all that cunning, to be honest. We just went out one day and returned with a rescue dog who then lived with us, becoming a much-loved member of the family and my constant companion. Apart from everything else, dogs need exercise. Which meant that my dislike of walking was no longer fit for purpose. Being young, fickle and shameless,

Stan Cullimore is a writer, musician and broadcaster who also works in education, helping children hone their literacy and storytelling skills. He was also the guitarist with pop icons The Housemartins. I immediately changed my mind about family walks. If I was allowed to hold the lead and throw the sticks our dog loved to fetch, then any walks were officially alright by me.

Fast-forward a few years and I found myself being a popstar, singing and playing guitar in The Housemartins. This was in the days before sat-nav and smartphones, of course. When we were on tour, one of my many jobs was to be the navigator, sitting in the front of the van with a map, torch and packet of biscuits to keep me going through the long nights as we drove stupid distances between gigs. One of the perks of the job was that I got to choose the route. This meant we often took scenic detours. Whenever we stopped the van for a comfort break, my band mates would get out, look around and grumble that once again, we seemed to be in the middle of nowhere, surrounded on all sides by countryside. Which to their minds, was the worst possible place to be.

Truth is, I took us down those byways and backroads on purpose, so I could get out for a ten-minute leg stretch and enjoy the feel of walking through new landscapes and discovering new vistas. These days, I’m all grown up, with more grandkids and dogs than you can throw a stick at. (Seriously. I’ve tried.)

But I still remember my parents’ cunning all those years ago and I still respect their wisdom. Whenever we want to go out for a family walk, I simply offer the smaller children the chance to hold one of the dogs’ leads. Then everyone is happy. If memories are the treasures of life, then walking has definitely been a rich source of supply for me and mine. Words, by the way, which my younger self would definitely never have expected to say, type or believe.

Of course, these days, I always take a pocketful of sweets along with me on walks. Some things in life never leave you. Thank goodness.